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One
Jean
He hasn’t even knocked on the door yet but I still panicwhile running around like a headless chicken. I got home from work late, had a quick bite to eat and then jumped into the shower to wash off the day’s grime.
Hopefully he likes the smell of grapefruit body wash. I think I read somewhere that men find the scent arousing and I need all the help I can get. Spitting toothpaste into the sink, I furiously start drying my wet hair.
In the mirror, I meet my own eyes and they have that stern, professional look I always get when I need to get a job done. This is no ordinary job, however and I’ve never done anything like this before.
It would’ve been nice if they had offered a crash course. Instead they sort of just bullied me into this and told me I’d be fine. The nerves in my stomach tighten from sudden anxiety and I have never even met the man. All I know is he’s one of the mercenaries. His looks could be off putting, his personality even worse but I’ll just have to suck it up.
The reward means everything to me, and on top of it they offered me a bonus. A whole new apartment, that’s huge and located in one of the best neighborhoods in North Carolina. It’s definitely an upgrade from where I previously lived.
Say whatever you want about Blackwater, but they have excellent taste.
Putting the dryer back in its place, I try to do something with my hair but I don’t know whether he likes it up or down. I decide to just let it hang because men are supposed to like long hair or whatever. Leaving the bathroom, I hurry over to my closet and start hunting for something to wear.
Yesterday, I set my foot in a lingerie store for the first time in my life, and asked the saleslady for matching bras and panties with a cargo print. I thought it sounded sexy but she looked at me as if I told her, I sit under a bridge and force people to solve my riddles for a living. Apparently cargo print isn’t seductive.
Hence I’m wearing red underwear.
At least, I got that covered but I should’ve thought about buying a new dress. I’ve never been a girly girl and I pick out the only one I have. It’s white with a black belt and I suppose this looks cute enough. Maybe a little bit frumpy...? Inwardly, I groan but I don’t have time to turn this into a big deal.
My adrenaline’s already rushing so much that if I don’t calm down, I’ll have to take another shower. I open my windows in an attempt to cool down and take a couple of deep breaths. The city’s alive down on the street, heating up with energy and the peppery smell from a food truck hits my nostrils as laughter and music pounds in my ears.
This is a good night.
And I’m going to make the best out of this situation.
I close the window and light a couple of scented candles, hoping he’s not allergic. Turning around, my eyes land on the couch and I fluff up the cushions and fold the blanket for the second time this evening.
Okay, so I’m a little bit of a wreck.
They should’ve picked someone else because I don’t think I’m the right girl for this job. I don’t even know why they chose me but they said something along the lines of:Carter Spencer is basically an animal. Luckily you’re great with animals, Jean.
Groaning, I rub my forehead because I doubt Carter will sit prettily if I offer him a biscuit. Then again, I’m not offering biscuits. I’m offering what’s between my legs. And there’s no way of knowing whether Carter will take his bribe. He might take a look at me, tell me I don’t do it for him, walk off and then I’ll die from embarrassment when I have to report to Pace and Arkin.
I should have prepared better for this and I’m slowly starting to feel overwhelmed. At least the ambience is good and I dim the light, then glance at my bed. The sheets are freshly washed and there’s even massage oil on the bedside table. I got it for free at the lingerie store, and I have no idea what exactly to do with it but I bet Carter does. Letting out an abrupt laughter, I shake my head. I doubt Carter is the kind of man who bothers with the sensual stuff, maybe he even despises foreplay and just wants to get in and get out.
Blackwater men aren’t exactly known for their finesse and gentleness. I’ve worked for Blackwater for four years now and every soldier I’ve come across was gruff, mean and deadly. They have to be, I get that but they’re not exactly the kind of men, a girl is dying to crawl into bed with.
I rub my hands together when they start trembling and tell myself I’ll handle this. It’s just a job, nothing personal and I don’t have to get so worked up about it. And yet I jump in the air when there’s a knock on my door.
It booms in my ears as if he knocked with his fist and goosebumps flood my skin. Throwing one last look into the mirror, I walk over to the door and slowly open up. The man standing there looks like he’s seen enough to last a century. His eyes are dead, his jaw set. The dirty blond hair is longer at the front and shaved on the sides.
I blink up at him, relieved he’s not gruesome but those eyes...
They send shivers down my spine.
“Jean?” he rasps and he sounds as if forming words is a battle. “I’m Carter,” he adds when I nod.
He doesn’t reach his hand out and my knees start feeling weak. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle him. He’s twice my size, looming and his energy is so pitiless, that I get visions of him with blood splatter on his face.
I’m supposed to invite him in. Can’t let him stand here underneath the fluorescent lights. Swallowing, I try to do just that but I’m tongue-tied and it only gets worse when he starts scowling. He doesn’t force himself inside but eventually lets out an impatient sigh and takes a step forward. I react exactly how I shouldn’t and cower. Carter tenses and a shadow falls down his eyes. His fists clench and he gives a short nod, as if he can take a hint and turns around.
Panic flares in me and I almost throw myself at him. “Wait!” I pinch my lip when he stops in his tracks and turns to look at me. “Please, come in.”
This time, I hold the door wide open while simultaneously holding my breath. His hazel eyes travel up my body and land on my face. He’s trying to see if I really mean it and I force myself to flash a smile, that I hope looks authentic. If he rejects me, I’ll be in big trouble.
